ABC You and Me
by rainbowrites
Summary: 26 500 word or more drabbles about the epic friendship bike changderson, with side klaine and tike. Each drabble is based off a letter of the alphabet. Rated M for the letter P, all other are T


**A is for Apple**

"What is it?" Blaine asked, his one eye wandering in it's drug-induced haze.

Mike carefully cupped Blaine's fingers around the fruit, guiding his fingers along the knifework. Together they traced the outline of Mike's gift. "It's an apple bunny."

"An... apple bunny?" Blaine smoothed the shiny edges of the 'ears' with the tip of his finger, his hands shaking with the effort to be careful. Mike nearly cried at his expression. He rubbed his thumb briefly against Blaine's hand instead.

"My mom used to make them for me, when I was sick. Apples are good for you." He carefully pressed the end of one of the slices to Blaine's lips. Blaine shook his head, tears springing to his eye.

"No." He grasped Mike's wrist to stop him. As drugged as he was, Mike was pretty sure he was actually keeping Blaine's hand up, rather than Blaine holding him back. Blaine's fingers were only just managing to hold on, a kittenish grip that reminded Mike of those cat posters.

_Hang in there!_

Mike forced down the immediate urge to panic and shut down. It was much easier than it would have been a year earlier. He dabbed at Blaine's eyes with the embroidered handkerchief Tina had given him for his birthday. Kurt had Blaine's handkerchief, Mike had seen it sticking out of his pocket. Kurt would run his fingers over the corner of it, over and over and over again, his face terrifyingly blank.

"What's wrong?" He kept his voice low and soft. He had to resist the urge to make soothing chirrups the way he did whenever the neighbor's cat got stuck up a tree.

"I don't want to eat it." Blaine mumbled around the apple still pressed lightly against his lips. Every time he spoke, he kissed it. "I want to save it."

Mike took out his phone and took a picture of the apples, and then of Blaine with the apple still pressed against his unopened mouth. "You have pictures now. And I'll make you more when you finish. However many you want. Any time."

Blaine looked up at him, looked down at the apple, licked his lips, his tongue darting out the touch the fruit, before looking back up at Mike's face. "Promise?"

Mike nodded. "Promise."

(Ten years later, and Mike woke up to a cold compress against his forehead and an apple bunny pressed to his lips. The edges were rough, and one ear was hanging on by a thread.

It was the best thing Mike had ever seen.

"Tina had to go in to work, but she called me to come in and check on you." Blaine slipped the apple between Mike's lips,

Mike crunched on the fruit and tried not to look too pathetically grateful for the sweetness bursting in his mouth and getting rid of the sour taste of bile. "Thanks." He mumbled around his bite.

Blaine smiled at him, and carefully arranged the blankets around him. "I'll make you more when you finish. However many you want. Any time.")

**B is for Broken (B is also for Blaine)**

"Who broke Blaine?" Puck asks Mike, jabbing a thumb at the way Blaine's attacking the punching bag like it had killed his cat. Mike shrugs and lifts weights until Puck gets bored and wanders off to heckle Finn about how much he seems to like the medicine _balls_. Situations like this, it's nice that most people still forget sometimes that he talks now.

At the end of the work out session, Mike drapes a towel around Blaine's neck. Blaine doesn't react, still breathing too heavily. Mike gives Finn a look, and Finn awkwardly shepherds the other Glee guys out of the gym.

They're alone now, but Blaine's still not looking at him. He's eyeing the punching bag again though, like he's trying to figure out how much force it would to rip it in half. Mike, telegraphing every move like he would with any injured animal, takes Blaine's hands and starts to unwind the tape. He's not sure whether he should take it as a win when Blaine doesn't stop him, just drops his eyes to the floor and lets Mike free his bound hands.

Mike carefully folds up the strips of cloth, watches his own hands wind the material with far more focus than it deserves to give Blaine some time to come back from where he went.

"He called me last night."

Mike doesn't look up from where he's still winding the cloth painfully slowly. He has no idea what's going on, who _he _is, but if he's supposed to then Blaine will explain.

"He wanted-" Blaine gives a little choked off laugh, and when Mike glances up through his eyelashes Blaine's got a wild grin on his face. It makes him unexpectedly angry, but not at Blaine. "He wanted to say sorry." Blaine clenches his hands back into fists. "He wanted me to forgive him."

Blaine puts one hand flat against the punching bag, and Mike knows he's staring at the almost invisible scar right where his thumb meets his pointer. You wouldn't notice it if you didn't know it was there.

And Mike gets it.

"Only one?" He asks, because he can't ask 'Where are they and how can I make sure they never talk to you again?'

Blaine's grin twists into something sharp and ugly for a moment, before dropping completely. Blaine scrubs his face and sighs, his shoulders shuddering as he exhales all the anger he'd been clinging to all day. He looks tired without it, but he stands straighter and looks Mike in the eye this time. "I told him I would try. But not to call me again."

"Did you talk to Kurt?" He takes Blaine's hands in his own. This is a hard conversation, and these hands have been through enough already. He trusts Blaine, but he's not sure if Blaine trusts Blaine.

Blaine nods. "He said he was proud of me for being that forgiving."

"Do you think you can?" Mike gently massages Blaine's hand, pulling his fingers to loosen the tight joints.

"I hate them." It's a statement, not a curse. "Kurt understood Karofsky. I can't understand them." Mike nods. There's a world of difference between understanding the when, where, and who of hate and understanding the why.

"I hate him too." It's the closest thing to absolution Mike can give him. Blaine drops his head to Mike's shoulder and doesn't cry.

(The next day, Kurt thanks him. "It means something different coming from me." Kurt says, his back ramrod straight, a hickey just visible over his collar.)

**C is for Culture**

"How Filipino do you feel?"

Blaine gives him a weird look, but considers the question. "Generally, I hover around a solid 10%. My family's not all that big on it." He doesn't say _unlike yours_.

"Ah."

"But." Blaine continues, fiddling with his pen, "I am 100% gay. All the time. It's awesome, and the history is fascinating, but-" He shrugs, flashing that bleak what-can-you-do smile, "it's tiring sometimes too. To be 100% all the time."

"Yeah." Mike breathes, his chest a little lighter. "I'm always Other Asian. I'm like, the face of Asia." He makes a face. "Not even China. _Asia_. I had one kid today tell me how he'd thought of me when he got sushi yesterday."

"Oh? Where did he get it? I've got some serious hamachi-maki cravings."

Mike grins, because Blaine actually knows the proper titles instead of just 'yellowtail rolls.' Mike's willing to put down money that if Blaine ever went outside the country, he'd spend months learning all the proper greetings and cultural norms. It's about respect.

"He said he got it at the grocery store."

"The grocery store? What? What grocery store carries sushi?"

"He said he took it home and this mom threw it in the deep fat fryer."

Blaine stared at him. "The... the deep fat fryer."

"Yeah. Because 'sushi is raw fish right?'" Mike can't help himself. He nearly falls over laughing at the _offended_ look on Blaine's face. Mike's suddenly reminded of the time Puck had announced that the eighties had the coolest outfits, with Stars of David in hairy chests and red leisure suits. Kurt had nearly pulled a tongue muscle correcting him.

"That is so wrong." Blaine turns red with righteous indignation. "That's not just wrong, that is _offensively_ wrong."

Mike shrugs. The guy had actually been pretty nice about it, he'd seemed genuinely excited to be able to share this with him. Mike had learned long ago to not get offended whenever Lima deserved it. He'd never have time to do anything else.

"I mean, no one comes up to me to ask about Filipino stuff. God, do you think they even know about the Philippense." Blaine looks stricken. "They have to right? That's basic geography."

"You expect students to know basic geography at McKinley?" He doesn't say _I think they just don't know you're not white_.

"Where students use pencils primarily as weapons." Blaine mutters.

"Not all of us." Mike's vaguely offended on behalf of all the kids who really _do_ work hard. Maybe Kurt's rubbing off on Blaine more than he realized.

"Yeah, of course, you know I didn't mean you. I'm sorry though, that was unfair." Mike accepts the apology with a nod.

Blaine eyes him shrewdly. "They don't realize I'm Filipino do they?"

Mike shrugs uncomfortably. "You're gay."

Blaine smiles that bleak smile. "I forgot I can't be more than one thing."

"That would be too complicated. They can only keep one thing in their head at a time." Mike stands up. Blaine's hands are getting twitchy, and he can feel his own brain starting to buzz with the anger that he usually doesn't let himself feel. "Come on, if get this Hot For Teacher dance right then we can turn that one thing into_ pervy dancer_." Blaine's startled laugh is like sunshine, and he lets it banish the shadows of McKinley's walls.

**D is for Dancing (D is for Duty)**

Blaine is the only one Mike tells besides Tina, when he decides to apply to Stanford's pre-med program. It feels like a confessional, Blaine sitting next to him with only a lattice of desperation separating them. He can see Blaine through cracks.

"You just want them to be happy." Blaine says. He does not say y_ou just want him to love you again_ or _you just want him to be proud of you_. They echo unsaid, caught in the web Mike's built between them like a fly.

"It's fine." Mike says. "Really, I don't mind." He hears his voice getting higher but he can't help it. Blaine needs to _understand_. "This way everyone's happy."

Blaine nods.

"No, you don't get it." Mike's hands start shaking. He can feel them vibrating against his leg, but he can't stop. "It's not a big deal. It's fine."

"I get it." Blaine says softly.

"No. You don't get it. I'm not - I can change this. I can do this and everything will be fine."

Blaine looks like Mike's hit him, but it's the barest flicker of shock and pain before smoothing back over into gentle understanding. Mike wants to cut out his own tongue. Why are words so _hard_? Why can't he just dance how he feels? (Why can't he just dance?)

"I probably would have changed. If I could. To make everything fine again." Blaine reaches out and touches Mike's hands, curling around them and stilling the frantic twitches. Hot shame floods through Mike, but Blaine cuts him off before he can apologize. "Before, I mean, they'd always been really proud of me. Like, I was the good son, because Cooper is..." Blaine rolls his eyes, but his lips curl up into a smile, "_Cooper_. So they always came to my concerts and were really supportive and great. So I didn't hesitate to come out you know? And then, they," Mike can feel the tiny edges of Blaine's nails start to dig into his palm. Almost as soon as he feels it it stops. "Stopped."

Mike nods, his eyes on their entwined hands.

"But hey." Blaine nudges his shoulder until he looks up. When he does, he's nearly blinded by Blaine's grin. "Then I met Kurt."

"Who's worth it." It's not a question but Blaine nods anyway, his sappy smile nearly giving _Mike_ cavities.

"Worth everything."

Mike grinds his teeth. He stops himself when he catches Blaine watching the muscles jump in his jaw.

"Do you want to dance?"

"I just told you, Blaine, I-"

"No, I mean, right now." Blaine holds out his hand. "I had a great idea for doing a Top Hat number."

Mike's eyes widen before he can help it. "The ostrich dance?"

Blaine grins, he leans forward and whispers conspiratorially, "The ostrich dance." He pulls Mike into his arms and starts to sway.

It feels like absolution.

Mike closes his eyes and tells himself that it's only Blaine making him feel that way.

**E is for Etiquette**

"You need to help me." Mike blurts out as soon as the door opens.

"Okay." Blaine says immediately.

Mike opens his mouth to explain, and then stops and smiles because he didn't need to. "Can you teach me how to use a knife and fork?"

"Did you forget how to use anything other than chopsticks?" Blaine asks, raising an eyebrow. But he leads Mike to the kitchen anyway.

Mike rolls his eyes. "I need you to help me learn all the-" He waves a hand vaguely, "parts."

"Oh, you want to know the proper etiquette?"

Mike nods, relieved.

Blaine gives him a funny sort of smile, like he's afraid to show how excited he is. "The most important thing you need to know is that etiquette isn't about being fancy."

"It's not?"

"No." Blaine lays out row after row of heavy silver cutlery, the curling flowers glinting under the light. His movements are slow, almost reverential. "The point of manners is make things easier, not harder. To make interactions smooth and pleasant. It's about respect. Courtesy." His voice is easy, but he can't meet Mike's eyes. "There's a story about a foreigner who went to a fancy dinner party, and he drank from the finger bowl because he thought it was the next course. Without missing a beat, the hostess drank too, so that the man wouldn't be embarrassed." He looks up at Mike, his eyes desperate. "_That's_ what etiquette means."

Mike's mouth is too dry to speak, so he just nods.

Blaine's smile is a little easier when he starts again. "How fancy is it?"

Mike still can't speak, so he just taps Blaine's red shirt.

"Ah." He sees the understanding light up Blaine's face, "Burgandy's?"

Mike nods.

"I can help you with that." Blaine sets out silverware and bone china with terrifying efficiency. He even pours water into cut glass tumblers.

He ushers Mike into the seat. "Remember, it's about making things easier. Don't worry too much."

Mike wonders how often Blaine's eaten out in fancy restaurants, instead of just at home. Or if eating at home was like this every night, with silver heavy in his hands as he ate with perfect manners. Always perfect. Mike knows that part without needing to ask.

"General rule of thumb," Blaine breaths into Mike's ear. "Work from the outside in."

Mike picks up the outermost fork. It's obscenely heavy in his hands, and he has to swallow around his swollen tongue. He wishes desperately for his chopsticks. They're so smooth and light in his hands, fit perfectly into the grooves of his fingers.

Blaine carefully uncurls his fingers from the fork that he's gripping like a lifeline. "Do you want me to show you how to make a swan out of a napkin?" He says, casual as anything. "It's like cloth origami."

Mike lets out a deep, shuddering breath. "Yeah, can you show me how to do that?"

"Of course! It's fun. You can do it with towels too, if you want to make your guests feel fancy."

In the end, Mike leaves not knowing anything more about silverware but plenty about Blaine.

**F is for Fortune Cookie**

Blaine stared at the calligraphy. He carefully, reverently, picked it up with the tips of his fingers to examine it even closer. Finally, he had to turn to Mike. "I seriously don't see anything! It's perfect Mike, perfect."

"No." Mike said, the smudge of black ink under his eye making the twitching even scarier. "Look again. The e. I could feel my hand wobbling."

Blaine dutifully examined the e. "Mike, I'm telling you. I don't see it." He squinted. "Maybe if you looked at it under a microscope." He joked. He looked up.

"Wait, Mike, come back! I didn't mean it about the microscope!"

Once Blaine had gotten Mike back in the room, confiscated his wallet, and made him breathe into a paper bag for a few minutes, they looked at the calligraphy again.

Mike gripped the calligraphy brush like a lifeline, tiny drops of ink splattering his leg as he shook. "It's okay?"

Blaine squeezed his shoulder. "It's more than okay Mike. It's beautiful. She'll love it."

Mike looked over at the bowl of batter and the tiny circles of baking parchment. "Is it ready?"

Blaine nodded, then touched his shoulder. "Are you?"

Mike wrapped his hand around Blaine's in a grip so tight Blaine was legitimately afraid for his knuckles. But for the first time that night, his voice was steady. "Without a doubt."

"What's the best fortune you've ever gotten?" Blaine asked, as they cracked open their cookies.

"'A new pair of shoes will do you a world of good.'" Kurt said wistfully. "I got the most fabulous pair of buckled boots that day." He smiled coyly at Tina. "After all, you wouldn't want the fortune cookie to be _wrong_, would you?"

"Oh the horror." Blaine fake-whispered across the table to Mike. "That was probably the world's most expensive fortune cookie." Kurt kicked his ankle, but smiled when Blaine stuck out his tongue.

"What about you Blaine?" Tina laughed. "You and Mike go out for Chinese food often enough."

"I have needs." Mike said, lips quirking up in a half smile. "Chinese food needs."

"I know baby." She patted his knee. "And I have MSG needs. As in, I need less of it in my life if I'm going to keep fitting into my clothes."

"Oh hush!" Blaine burst out. "You're beautiful Tina!"

"Besides." Kurt said, casually swirling his wine, "I need more plus-size models. All the girls they give me look like they subside on half a lettuce leaf a week." He snapped his fingers. "So chop chop, Tina. Take one for the team."

"I suppose if I need to eat a whole cheesecake for the greater good..." Tina said dramatically.

"No." Kurt pointed a warning finger at her. "Cheesecake is mine. Always."

"One time, I tried to take a bite of his chocolate cheesecake." Mike and Tina both gasped. Blaine shook his head mournfully, skillfully dodging Kurt's kick. "I had fork marks in my hand for a week."

"Okay!" Kurt clapped his hands together forcefully. "We're getting off topic here. Blaine. Best fortune cookie." He very consciously did not snap his fingers.

"Uhm..." Blaine screwed up his face thinking, his tongue snaking out to lick his bottom lip as he considered. Kurt surreptitiously crossed his legs. Then had to glare at Tina and her sudden bout of violent _sneezes_.

"'Marriage lets you annoy one special person for the rest of your life.'" Blaine said finally, smiling that special, soft smile at Kurt.

Tina pressed a hand to her heart and sighed happily. "You two are so beautiful together."

"We're a regular Picasso." Kurt snarked. But he blushed when Blaine kissed his knuckles.

"Are you two..." Tina trailed off.

"When marriage equality is legal throughout America." Blaine said, with the quiet tiredness of something that's been said a thousand times before.

Tina turned to Mike quickly. "What about you Mike? What was your best fortune?"

Mike's smile was strained, and he couldn't meet her eyes. Tina tried not to panic. He'd been acting weird all day, no, all week.

"Mike?"

"I like this one." He murmured, sliding his cookie over to her.

"What?" She glanced at Kurt and Blaine. Kurt looked just as confused as her, but Blaine looked like he was about to vibrate out of his seat. "Okay, fess up, what did you two do?"

"I promised Kurt to make him cookies twice a year." Blaine said. Tina raised an eyebrow at how nervous he seemed to be, unable to meet eye and bouncing up and down in the chair. "So this year Mike helped me."

"And of course, you two made fortune cookies." Tina laughed, shaking her head fondly as she cracked open the cookie. Her laugh died on her lips.

_Will You Marry Me?_

She was distantly aware of Kurt calling her name, but she could barely hear it over the rush in her ears.

"Tina?" Mike finger gently stroked her cheek. She clung to it like the anchor it was.

"Yes." Her voice cracked. "_Yes_."

She launched herself at Mike, nearly missing his mouth in her fervor.

"Ding ding ding." She heard Kurt murmur, his voice heavy with tears, "We have a winner."

(**AN**: G is a little different. I asked for prompts, and then did 100 words for each prompt. And then wrote a big one for fun)

**G is for Gardening**

"Mike! Look!"

Mike sprinted over, nearly concussing himself on the watering can Kurt had abandoned when he realized that he'd gone from 'glowing' to 'sweaty'.

They peered at the dirt together, at the tiny spot of green that was determinately pushing it's way though.

"Soon you'll have a whole garden." Mike stroked the tiny nub of green, and could imagine without being told the hours Blaine spent watering and weeding and reading out loud. Lavishing his tiny garden with love.

Blaine touched it reverently. "I did that." He said softly. "It's alive because of me."

Mike smiled. "Because of you."

**G is for Garage Sale**

"Okay," Mike pinched the bridge of his nose. "What about that sweater?"

Blaine abandoned the empty picture frame he'd been cuddling to leap for the sweater. "Kurt borrowed this during our third date! It smelled like him for weeks." Mike sincerely hoped he didn't have that sappy smile when he talked about Tina. He already knew it was a futile hope, but still.

Blaine clutched the sweater to his chest. "Storage."

Mike sighed, and crossed his fingers that Kurt got his big break sooner rather than later. At this rate, they'd end up needing to rent a whole city block.

**G is for Gowns**

"Sorry Mike." Blaine's eyes were so huge and earnest that Mike nearly drowned in them. "I would do it, but I'm not tall enough."

"It's okay." Mike said. And he meant it. Tina was always using him as a fashion mannequin. He was totally fine with that.

"Turquoise is totally your color." Blaine said loyally. Mike smiled half-heartedly. He'd do anything to help, but-

"Did I really have to wear a bra?"

"I needed to see if the straps would be visible through the gown." Kurt mumbled. "Now stay still."

Mike very manfully resisted shrieking when Kurt pricked him, _again_.

**G is for Gangsta**

"I can _so _be gangsta!" Blaine said. The adorably offended look on his face didn't help him

Mike shook his head. He loved Blaine, but he was friends with Artie. He knew gangsta. He eyed Blaine's bowtie and slick hair. Blaine was many things, but gangsta was not one of them.

"Show me?" He offered, because, he did love Blaine. And he owed him. Blaine had helped him through that never-to-be-mentioned-again grunge phase after all.

"Now?" Blaine blinked frantically, then crossed his arms, remembering at the last second to make peace signs. "...Yo?"

Mike buried his head in his hands.

**G is for Guilt**

"You did the right thing." Blaine said softly. It was the first time they'd ever been over at Blaine's instead of Mike's, and Mike was painfully aware of why. "It's your life, not his."

Without needing to be asked, Blaine pulled Mike down, held him together. Mike's face pressed against the crook of Blaine's neck.

"You did the right thing." Blaine said again. From this angle, Mike could feel it reverberating down to his bones. It sounded deeper. Like it could have come from a grown man instead of teenage boy.

He closed his eyes, and pretended to believe it.

**G is for G-String (G is for Goofy Goobers)**

"I feel extremely uncomfortable with this." Blaine said for the thirty-seventh time. Mike had been counting.

"Kurt said it was okay right?"

Blaine fidgeted. "...He said he wanted to come too, because it wasn't fair that he had to look at Rachel's boobs when they went lingerie shopping but I get to look at you in a g-string when we do." Blaine rolled his eyes. "He also said to take pictures."

Mike blushed. He obligingly let Blaine take a few shots with his camera phone.

"Does it work for me?" Mike asked, genuinely concerned. Tina had wanted to try some new things, well, he wanted to make Tina happy. He very carefully didn't think about how happy it would make him to have Tina happy, the way her voice went all deep as she said _good boy_.

Blaine sighed, and carefully oggled Mike in the deep purple g-string. He circled Mike like a shark, and even made Mike bend over so he could see how the material stretched over his his ass.

"Do I look sexy?" He asked, trying to keep the anxiety from his voice.

Blaine rubbed his temples. "You would look sexy wearing an oversized gardening glove for shorts. You _did _look sexy wearing an oversized gardening glove for shorts.

"That was a strange day."

Blaine shuddered. "Don't remind me."

"I'm still finding grape jelly when I wash."

Blaine clapped his hands over his ears. "If you say one word about the giraffe..." He trailed off warningly.

"I wasn't." Mike said guiltily.

"Good." Blaine crossed his arms grumpily. "And yes, you look incredibly sexy in that. The purple looks great against your skin. Buy it and let's go."

"Are you sure?" Mike held up a glatz thong that he knew for a fact were the same color as Kurt's eyes. "You don't want to try any on?"

Blaine twitched. "Just the one." He relented, grabbing it.

"You know I have to take pictures for Tina right?"

Blaine groaned, but nodded good-naturedly. "Got it." He glanced down at his own phone. "Kurt would probably want pictures of the both of us together."

"Probably" Mike agreed.

Blaine knuckled his forehead, but Mike saw the corners of his mouth turn up. "We are so whipped."

Mike nodded without hesitation. "It's awesome isn't it?"

Blaine grinned. "The greatest."

**H is for His Dark Materials AU**

Mike waits. Kaisa rustles her feathers. Blaine grimaces. Mal swoops around Blaine's head like an energetic halo.

_I should have been a turtle_. Kaisa comments to Mike. He smothers a grin and focuses on looking patient.

Finally, Blaine stammers. "Have you and Tina ever, you know-" He waves his hand vaguely.

Despite himself, Mike blushes. "We've had sex." It's the first time he's ever said it out loud to anyone besides his daemon, and it sends a thrill down his spine. Kaisa puts her head on his knee and he knows she's remembering the way Ky had been a burst of color spread across the pillow.

"No, I mean." Mal tucks herself into the crook of Blaine's neck, Blaine's hand coming up automatically to shield her. Mike aches at the sight, like he does whenever Blaine flinches at too sudden movements or Mal darts into Blaine's pocket at loud noises. "Have you ever touched Kyrillion?"

Mike and Kaisa both freeze at the idea of touching of Kyrillion, of breaking the taboo. He pulls Kaisa to his chest, buries his hands in her snowy feathers.

It's not horrible, it's just _unthinkable_. To lay hands on another person's soul, to let someone, anyone, touch his own?

He is suddenly, for the first time in his life, very aware of how vulnerable a thing it is to keep your heart outside your body.

"No." He forces out. "And she's never touched Kai."

Mike hesitates, so Kaisa (who is so much braver than him) asks, "Have you touched Kurt?"

Mal's nod is so tiny that Mike could pretend he didn't see it. But he can't pretend not to see the way Blaine's face softens, his smile nearly blinding as he remembers.

"You did?" Mike whispers. He holds Kaisa closer. To let someone touch your soul...

"It was amazing." Blaine closes his eyes, his fingers drifting over his daemon like he's pretending she's someone else. Pretending she's a swan. "It was the opening night of _West Side Story_. We – we had sex." Mike has no idea why _that_ is what he stumbles over. "And afterward, Anamaria fanned us and she...brushed her wings over my back."

"And then I let Kurt pet me." Mal says dreamily. "His fingers were so gentle, he didn't ruffle a single feather."

Kaisa tries to subtly fan him, but Mike's pretty sure he's blushing harder than he ever has in his life. "That's-that's kind of private isn't it?"

Blaine blanched. "No! I mean, I asked if I could tell you, and he said it was okay?"

"He did?" Mike reeled.

"I just, you know, wanted to tell you. So that next year, when he's – gone, you can tell me it was real." Blaine won't meet his eyes. Mike can see his knuckles whiten around his daemon. She lets out a little moan of pain, but Mike's pretty sure it's not because of that.

Mike blows air of his nose and trades looks with Kaisa. It's a powerful and terrifying thing, to let someone hold your heart in their hands. He's not sure he envies Blaine for it. But... "We will." He promises. He wonders how long it'll be till he'll be saying the exact same thing when Blaine asks him to be his best man.

**I is for ice cream**

Mike looks at Blaine.

Blaine looks at Mike.

Mike furrows his brows.

Blaine furrows his, admittedly far more impressive, brows.

Mike pushes the bowl of ice cream forward.

Blaine pushes it right back.

"Mike..." Blaine's tone is warning, "I want you to have it. You're my guest."

"Blaine." Mike's voice is uncharacteristically low, "I would feel awful if I took your ice cream away. I want you to have it."

They both glare at each other over the bowl of black sesame ice cream in front of them.

Kurt raises an eyebrow, a spoonful of the ice cream halfway to his open mouth. He carefully puts down the spoon. "Is the ice cream poisoned?"

"_What_?" They both turn to him, identical looks of shock painted across their faces.

"Well I mean. You both don't want to eat the ice cream." Kurt pokes at the offending foodstuff with the tip of his spoon. "So what's wrong with it?"

"There's nothing wrong with it. Well, there is, but it's not poisoned or anything!" Blaine explains, oh so helpfully. "It's just that there's only one bowl left. That's what's wrong."

Mike nods. "And I want Blaine to have my share. I know he hasn't had any in so long." He explains matter-of-factly. "He should get to have as much as he wants." He smiles at Blaine. "I want you to give you anything you want."

Blaine shakes his head so hard his curls make an attempt at freedom, "I want you to have it Mike! I know how much you love it!" He directs the full force of his puppy eyes at Mike. Kurt's only caught in the periphery and he can feel himself melting into a pile of goo. Somehow, Mike manages to hold firm though.

"Blaine." Mike reaches across the table to touch Blaine's hand. Blaine stares at him adoringly, twisting his hand so their fingers can tangle together. "I want you to have it."

Blaine's lower lip wobbles, and he gives a quick, shaky nod. He takes a slow bite of the ice cream, his eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy. Kurt raises an eyebrow. That look usually costs him a dozen roses and two hours of hard, sweaty work. Enjoyable work, but still. He gives the ice cream an appraising look.

"Thanks Mike." Blaine's voice cracks with emotion, and he gives Mike a look heavy with love and gratitude. Mike returns it with even more force. Kurt hadn't even known it was possible for Blaine to be out heart-eyed.

Kurt wonders if they even remember he's still there. Or that Blaine's dating _him. _He pops the spoon in his mouth. It _is_ pretty good.

He slides the bowl towards himself. They don't even notice, too busy staring into each other's eyes. You would have thought Blaine had been away at war, not on a business trip for two weeks. Kurt swallows another heaping spoonful and wonders if he should tell them about the extra carton left over from Mike's last visit.

**J is for Jealousy**

"Blaine." Mike very carefully pried the coffee cup out of Blaine's hands. The way Blaine's left eyelid was twitching was starting to worry him. "Blaine give me the coffee."

"But I need it." Blaine's fingers tightened, vise-like, over the cup. "I need to stay up and figure out how to bury a body without being found. Central Park? Central Park has a lot of dirt to bury stuff in."

"Blaine." Mike took away Blaine's fork. For good measure he took away the spoon too. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're kind of acting crazy. There's no point to being jealous."

Blaine's eye twitched. "Do you remember Damien?"

Mike examined his fingernails. Maybe he should get a manicure with Tina.

"Do you remember a certain someone dragging me all the way to Brooklyn to check out said Damien?"

It sure was hot. Maybe he should ask the waitress to turn on the air conditioner. But she looked kind of busy he wouldn't want to bother her.

"Do you remember a certain someone getting so tongue-tied with emotion that he blurted out _I know dance-fu_?"

Mike rubbed his temples. "You promised you wouldn't talk about that."

"I am making a point." Blaine gestured with his napkin, since his fork and spoon were still with Mike. "And who was the awesome best friend that convinced Damien that dance-fu was totally a thing, a graceful combination of ballet and judo whose roots reached back centuries to a tiny village in midland China, when a french balladeer and a chinese warlord fell in love? Complete with demonstrations of signature moves?"

Mike winced. "I still can't believe he thought the ratatouille roundhouse was a real thing."

Blaine smiled. "I'm extremely convincing."

Mike inclined his head. He really was. Blaine was a master of masks, of twisting reality around him. He'd had to have been, to stay alive.

"And then," Blaine continued, relentless. Mike sunk back into his seat. He knew what came next. "that certain someone didn't even realize that_ Damien was gay_."

"Okay. Okay." He tapped the table in defeat. Then Mike perked up at a thought. "Maybe the same thing's happening with Kurt and Luke? Are you sure Luke's gay?"

Blaine gave him his best _bitch please _look.

"That's about a 6. You're doing better. Did Kurt teach you that eyebrow thing?"

Blaine smiled, that pleased flush that he got whenever he was praised breaking out over his face. Even now, he still looked so shocked whenever he was.

"So you're sure he's gay?"

"What kind of shoes am I wearing?"

Mike didn't bother asking why it was relevenant. He just ducked under the table to check. "Black ones."

"Luke knew the brand, season, and the different colors it came in."

Mike felt his eyes widen. Not only gay, but someone that Kurt would find _fascinating_.

"Exactly." Blaine rapped the table. "Now how do we bury a body in Central Park?"

Mike gently put a hand over Blaine's, quelling the frantic twitches with a touch.

"With shovels."

Blaine smiled, his face breaking open into sweet relief. He blushed, ever so slightly "Thanks, Mike."

"No problem." He knew Blaine would never hurt anyone, except for maybe himself. But sometimes they both just needed to know that, even at their craziest moments, they had someone at their back. "My shovel is always at the ready."

**K is for Kink**

They didn't really talk about it. Neither of them was really the type for locker room talk, although Mike knew Tina and Kurt talked about it.

("Why do you need to talk about it?" Mike had asked, horrified, when Tina had asked if she could tell Kurt.

"Because," she'd said "sometimes I don't know how to take care of you."

"You take care of me." He'd said, stunned. "You take care of me perfectly, Tina."

"I know. But it's something I'm learning. I think Kurt was born knowing how to take care of people.")

They talk about it without ever quite saying the words. Mike knows how Blaine feels about the secret worlds he and Kurt create together, and he knows better than to try and horne his way in by trying to attach those worlds to the rest of it.

"So, Tina was worried today. About becoming my ball and chain."

Blaine smirked. "I'd think you'd like that." He waggled his eyebrows. "Or maybe a collar."

Mike blushed, because he knew Blaine had helped Tina pick out the delicate collar that Mike keeps under the false bottom in his wardrobe. It was too quiet for Tina, who admitted that she'd gravitated to the spikes and chained collars. But Blaine had taken her hands and wrapped it around the thin black braids that coiled together to make thick collar, and she had bought it without question.

He's not quite sure he likes it yet, but he knows he likes the way Tina's eyes get heavy and dark when she buckles it on him. The way she calls him _my good boy_ as she tightens it around his throat. The way it meant _you're safe now_ in a way that ropes never quite managed.

Blaine smiled, and carefully adjusted his bowtie. Mike smiled back automatically. Even weeks later, it was still a kind of relief he couldn't quite name to see Blaine with the knot of a bowtie tight against his throat. It was like absolution.

It scared Mike more than it should have to realize that next year, Blaine will have to tie his own ties.

"Kurt worries too, sometimes." Blaine admitted, his voice low. He smiled, but it was obviously just a reflex. "I'm kind of a responsibility." He picked at his cuticles. "He already has a lot of those."

Mike shrugged uncomfortably. He didn't like it when Blaine worries like that, when Blaine _thinks_ like that. It feels like an assault, as much as Blaine only means to attack himself. Mike picked at the carpet, and wished Tina was there to tell him what to say. Mike had a nagging feeling that what he and Tina were doing was very different from what Kurt and Blaine were. He wondered how much Blaine fought, how much Kurt had to _push_ to get Blaine to finally submit. Mike put a pin in that thought. He was pretty sure Tina would have somthing to say about animal mating rituals, about fighting for dominance. He wondered how that would feel, to be at someone's mercy because they _made_ you. Mike shied away from the thought.

In the end, there was a reason that Blaine wore a bowtie everyday while Mike saved his collar for special occasions.

"You get to be taken care of" He said cautiously. "But he gets to take care of you too."

Blaine smiled, and changed the subject to which bowtie he should wear to graduation.

(So really, he didn't change it at all)

**L is for Love**

Blaine sighs, and Mike could swear that hearts and flowers flowed out of him on that gust of air. "I love Kurt."

"I know, Blaine." Space aliens from Mars probably know that.

"I love him more than..." He squints out the window. "More than there are stars in the sky."

"That's a lot."

"A whooooole lot. And I love him every more." He turns to Mike. "How much do you love Tina?"

Mike lets Blaine snuddle into the crook of his shoulder as he thinks. "I love her more than there are digits of pi."

Mike can feel Blaine's eyes widen by the tickle of eyelashes against his neck. "That's a lot. Is that more than there are stars in the sky?"

"Probably not." He admits. "But it's a whole lot."

Blaine hums into his neck, the sound thrumming through his bones like Blaine's melted into him.

"I love Tina." He says, "I love her more than there are atoms in my body."

"I love Kurt more than there are grains of sand in the world. Uncountable, and there are more and more every day."

Mike considers this. "I love Tina more than alkaline metals love losing their valence electrons." He grins goofily. "She stabilizes me."

"I love Kurt more than I love gel. And I really really like gel."

Mike frowns. "Do you like gel or do you need gel?"

Blaine rubs his nose against Mike's shoulder, a choking sound escaping before he can stop it. He drags in a deep breath and tries again. "I love Kurt more than I love bowties."

"Even the one I got you? With sparkly microphones?" Mike knows that Blaine will know he's teasing, but he's half-terrified anyway. He's not really used to teasing his best friend. He and Matt usually just sat in silence and tried to understand what the hell was going on in New Directions that week.

"Even more than the sparkly microphones." Blaine says, but Mike can feel the grin against his neck.

"My bond with Tina is even stronger than an ionic bond." It's not in 'I love _ more than' format, but he's pretty sure Blaine won't call him on it.

Blaine pauses. His breath tickles Mike's neck. "I love Kurt more than Kurt loves scarves."

Mike turns to look at Blaine. "Wow."

"Yeah."

"Do you think Kurt loves you more than Kurt loves scarves?"

"He-" Blaine closes his mouths. Squints up at the ceiling as he considers. "...does?" He looks at Mike with wide, earnest eyes. "He just, he really loves scarves. If he loves me as much as he loves scarves, that's like... that's like-"

"That's like anyone else loving you more than they love their own life."

"Yeah." Blaine smiles beatifically. "Egggggzackly."

"I'm pretty sure he loves you more than scarves anyway." Mike smiles at him. "Go to sleep now." He kisses Blaine's forehead.

Blaine huffs, but closes his eyes.

After a long moment, Mike whispers. "I love you almost as much as Kurt loves scarves."

**M is for McKinley (M is also for Madness)**

Blaine was giving him that _look_. The one he pretty much had one perpetually in the choir room. Or whenever Sue was around. That squinted eye stare of _are you messing with me? Am I on candid camera? Did I hit my head really r_eally _hard this morning?_

You'd think he'd have realized that nothing was impossible after Coach Sue emptied a bag of cobras into the air vents "to help prevent the mice infestation from the escapees of William's hair alcatraz. They're probably armed with shivs they whittled from the bristles of his eyebrows. We can't be too careful."

To be honest, it wasn't the worst thing she'd done. Or even in her top ten. After all, Mike was pretty sure she'd milked them to get of the poison first. If only so she could put it into water pistols and spray at the Cheerios who didn't cartwheel fast enough. Or at anyone who annoyed her.

Mike made a mental note to look into cobra anti-venoms.

"It's actually pretty simple. Quinn was dating Finn, but she slept with Puck and got pregnant. While she was pregnant she told Finn that he'd impregnated her via hot tub.

"Via hot tub."

"McKinley doesn't have sex ed. We had a guy tell us to not have sex, because we'd get pregnant and die." Mike wondered if he should be offended on his fellow students' behalf that they didn't warrant an original threat. Or at least one not from Mean Girls.

"But then he started crushing on Rachel, and Rachel liked him back so she told Finn about Quinn and he threw her out."

"Wait, threw her out?"

"Oh yeah, they were living together because her parents had kicked her out." Blaine's shoulders tensed, and Mike nearly tripped over his words trying to move on. "And then she went and lived with Puck, but she wanted bacon so she moved in with Mercedes after singing about living in a man's world with the Unwed Mothership Connection."

"Bacon."

"Bacon is referred to by popular opinion as 'meat candy.' Vegetarians are more likely to cheat over bacon than anything else." Mike could see Blaine deciding not to ask why Mike knew that. Good. He was finally starting to figure out how to get along at McKinley. "And then she gave up the baby to Shelby, who was Rachel's birth mother and also the head of Vocal Adrenaline. She'd sent Jesse after Rachel so Rachel would figure out who her mother was, and also to break eggs on her head for some reason."

"_What_?"

"To demoralize her. She 'heard their little chicken souls crying out in agony.' That was probably pretty demoralizing too."

"She probably had different voices for every egg." Blaine said, seemingly unable to help it. His face had morphed from horrified confusion to morbid fascination. Mike sympathized. McKinley was like a train wreck and a soap opera mixed together and set to better music. Artie had started carrying around popcorn. Mike kept Mike&Ike's. Maybe Blaine could bring M&M's. They needed a chocolate guy.

Mike shrugged.

"It's pretty straightforward."

Blaine's look was starting to turn into _did you slip something into my drink? Puck didn't trick me into eating one of his pot brownies again did he?_ so Mike said quickly, "I have flashcards. They're laminated."

Blaine did not look comforted.

**N is for Nail Polish**

Blaine stepped out of his shoes automatically as soon as they got to Mike's house. "Now I know you've been wanting to try a rendition of the ostrich dance from Top Hat with Tina, and I just had the _best-_" He broke off when he realized that Mike wasn't looking at him. Well, Mike wasn't look at his face anyway.

More specifically, Mike was looking at his toes.

Blaine shuffled, trying to hide each foot behind the other for one embarrassing moment, before steeling himself and standing his ground. Literally. "It was, uhm, girls night with Rachel and Kurt. I was only allowed to stay if I..." He trailed off. His toes really spoke for him. His face burned, and for one horrible second he wondered how much it would hurt to run out to his car barefoot.

Mike nodded. "Turquoise is your color."

"I know it- wait what?"

A corner of Mike's lips quirked up. He pointed at Blaine's feet. "I like it."

"Y-you do?" Blaine tried not flinch but _girly boy faggot queer freak _were running through his head like a train, and he was tied to the tracks.

"Yeah, Tina paints my toe nails all the time." Mike slid gracefully to the floor at Blaine's feet. Even him just sitting down looked like some kind of dance move. He pulled off a sock. Sparkly black nails winked up at Blaine. "It's called Night Sky." He shrugged self-deprecatingly. "It makes Tina happy, and they look cool. Nothing wrong with it." Mike smiled up at him wryly, "Plus. Pedicures are kind of awesome."

Blaine grinned, and remembered once again why Mike was his favorite. (After Kurt of course.)

"I know right? It's basically a foot massage."

"Does Kurt used scented oils?"

"Lavender. What does Tina use?"

"Cherry blossom. One time she painted them cherry blossom pink to match." Mike's voice was as calm as ever, but Blaine noticed the tips of his ears turn pink. He wondered fascinatedly if they were turning cherry blossom pink.

"Pink is my favorite." He said, feeling a furtive thrill at the confession. "I mean, I don't wear it much," Blaine didn't stumble over his words, but only months of practice kept his grin steady, "but I really do love it."

Mike stood up. "Dad?"

Blaine nearly jumped out of his skin. "Mr-Chang, I-!" There was nobody there. He whirled back to Mike, who had the grace to look a little embarrassed amid the amusement.

"I was just checking if anyone else was home."

"Oh." Blaine coughed and hoped his blush wasn't _too _visible.

"I just meant-" Mike jerked his thumb towards his room. "Tina keeps her nail polish at my house."

Blaine twitched interestedly. "Does she?"

"She keeps the black at her house. She says she has an image to maintain though. Don't tell her I told you." Mike added guiltily.

"Her secret's safe with me." Blaine bounced ahead of Mike. "So, cherry blossom pink you say?"

**O is for Ohana**

"Hey."

Blaine didn't turn around from where he was watching Kurt (it had been two months, and 17 days since he had last been able to watch Kurt), but he smiled. "Hey Mike." He felt a warm body settle in next to him, the dip of the couch cushion making him lean into it.

When he was little, he thought that gravity was like a big blanket. All the planets were balls that weighed down the blanket so that you rolled in the closer you were. Now he thinks that maybe people are like that instead. You can't help but fall into them sometimes, if they're _big_ enough.

Mike plucked the bottle from his hands. "Do you think I'm a blanket?"

Blaine frowned sadly at his empty hand. "A comfy blanket. Like, one of those ones made up of all the little squares." Mike whispered the answer in Blaine's ear, because Mike has always been the best ever, and let Blaine cheat sometimes "A quilt. You're a quilt."

He watched Mike consider that.

"I think we all make one quilt." Mike drew a square in the bottle's condensation. "We're each a blanket square, and together we make one comfy quilt."

Blaine touched his forehead to Mike's shoulder, an achingly familiar sensation. Mike traced a finger through the air, and together they watched the threads of their lives converge.

Brittany and Kurt were making Lord Tubbington a Christmas sweater, with Brittany mouthing along with the thread count even as her fingers were busy knitting the designs as fast as Kurt could sketch them.

"Remind me to bring knitting needles to the next math tutoring session." Blaine slurred. Mike nodded without asking. He was watching too after all.

Santana braided Brittany's hair over and over again. Every time she finished, she unwound the golden strands and began again. Blaine couldn't see her face, but the bare lines of her neck looked vulnerable in a way that made Blaine think of baring his throat. Of giving in. Of release.

Blaine looked away before he'd be able to tell for sure whether her fingers were shaking. He'd walked in on them half-naked during one nightmare-inducing night, but this made him feel even more uncomfortably intrusive. He wished that Santana could figure out how to love someone without feeling so much it hurt. That passion didn't _have_ to walk hand in hand with pain.

He looked for Mercedes to avoid looking at Kurt.

Sam was showing Mercedes the CD cover he and Sugar had made for her, a picture of Mercedes in her bright red Inferno dress, her face alight with happiness. His face was tender, but his fingers were business-like as they tapped the cover, and showed her the blank spots in the back for when she finally produced her first track. Sugar bounced happily as she spouted about how much money Mercedes would make, and how Mercedes would someday have a house "almost as big as mine!"

Blaine smiled goofily at Mercedes' face, at the open wonder there. He wanted to hug her, to whisper in her ear "_I know, I know_" because having people believe in you never stopped feeling like the best kind of falling.

Mike tapped Blaine's knee, and he looked over to watch Tina threading popcorn with Quinn. Blaine could count their eyelashes by the shadows on their cheeks. Tina's cheeks were red from eggnog and laughter, but she was silent as she sat opposite Quinn, the only sound between them being the slide of thread. Quinn's legs were daintily tucked under her and she bent over her sewing, and the quiet happiness on Quinn's face was unbearably beautiful

Blaine looked away before he gave in to the impulse to throw himself at Quinn's feet and beg for her love. He curled into Mike and wondered if that was why Puck had wanted her so much. Mothers like that belong only in fairy tales. No wonder Puck hadn't been able to resist her.

Puck himself was talking to Artie about something called _sterek. _There was a lot of hand waving, and some frankly terrifyingly high-pitched squealing about FEELS. After about thirty seconds of listening, Blaine decided he _really_ didn't want to know.

Blaine stared hard at where Joe was watching the party from his prayer pose in the corner and tried his best to erase the word _knotting _from his memory.

Joe smiled at him when they locked eyes, and for a moment they were one. Watching the animals at the zoo. No, on a safari ride where there was only a thin piece of bulletproof glass between you and a hungry lion. Huddled in a bubble, looking out on this crazy, incestuous family love each other in a way.

"That's kind of voyeuristic." Mike remarked. "You're thinking out loud again by the way."

Blaine grinned before he could help it. "Being around you guys is kind of voyeuristic. You hook up within each other enough."

Mike shrugged. "We don't."

Blaine sighed, and watched Finn try to avoid the Rachel-shaped hole in the room. Finn's face was pinched painfully with trying to smile, as he turned in circles to try and find a place free from her memory. Blaine remembered darting through swiftly shrinking 'safe' circles where he remembered Kurt only because of how nothing reminded him of Kurt, and ached for Finn.

"Our quilt's got a hole." He said sadly. "Moths."

"Species magnus pomum" Mike said.

It took Blaine a moment to laugh, which was totally Mike's poker face's fault and not the beer _thank you very much_.

Blaine's head bobbed as Mike shrugged. "We'll be okay though." Mike murmured. Blaine felt more than heard the words, they vibrated through Mike's skin down to his bones. "She's coming back. Family means no one gets left behind, or forgotten."

Blaine grinned, and pretended that it wasn't because otherwise he'd cry. "We're little and broken. But still good."

Mike's fingers settled softly on the back of Blaine's neck. "Yeah. Still good."

**P is for Pegging (P is for Preparation, P is for Porn)**

"So you want to make sure you use a lot of lube, and just go slow with the prep to give him time to adjust. Here, see, I'll add another finger now." Blaine slid his hand out, and Tina leaned in for a closer look as he slicked up a third finger and slowly thrust back in. "See, and if you angle like this-"

Above them on the bed, Mike gave a strangled gasp. He had his head pushed back against the bed, his eyes screwed shut, his hands clenched in the sheets so hard Tina was a little worried he might tear them.

"You doing okay there, baby?" She stroked his cheek, and he leaned into it gratefully.

He nodded, fast and frantic. Blaine smiled sunnily and kept thrusting. Tina could barely hear him speaking over the slick slurping of his fingers and the breathy moans that Mike couldn't quite bite back.

"Once you've got the rhythm down, you can start to mix things up a little." He leaned down to lick up Mike's cock, lingering to swirl on the head. Tina whimpered.

When Blaine pulled up, his lips were wet and shiny, and he licked them before he continued. "Be careful, though. The first time I did that to Kurt - well, let's just say it was a good thing I had my eyes closed." Blaine chuckled, and the dichotomy between his casual tone and his fingers was driving Tina insane. She clenched her hand to still the shaking. "He kind of came all over my face." Mike groaned and thrust back hard against Blaine's fingers at that, nearly shoving Blaine off the bed.

"_No_." Tina said, her voice hard. She sank gratefully back into that role as she gripped Mike's hair. "You don't do that." Mike gasped, his eyes squeezing shut against the tears from the combination of Tina and Blaine's hands. When Mike had settled back down, his limbs going limp, Tina nodded at Blaine.

Blaine eyed her, his fingers still knuckle deep in her boyfriend's ass. She blushed, suddenly unsure without the feel of Mike's hair under her fingers to anchor her, but she didn't look away. She twisted her left nipple and bit back a moan as he smirked at her. He bent back over Mike. She rubbed the soft hairs between her breasts, fingers flicking over her right nipple.

"And when you've gotten comfortable with it, you can even-" Blaine bent down and licked around his knuckles, his tongue grazing Mike's quivering hole. Mike groaned, his whole body spasming. Blaine smiled sunnily at Tina, who was panting in time with her boyfriend's gasps, "Remember, the whole point is just to make it feel really, really good for him. That's what being on top means. Even if you're the one taking it. Although," Blaine slapped Mike's ass affectionately. Mike jerked and moaned, his ass turning a pale red. But whether it from the smack or from the blush creeping down his chest Tina couldn't tell. "He certainly is right now!"

Blaine smiled down at Mike, who gazed back up at him, eyes dark and wide with lust. Tina shivered at the heat passing through the look they were giving each other. They looked so good together, Blaine's olive fingers sinking into Mike's reddened hole, his other hand flat against Mike's abs.

"What else does he like?" Blaine asked, tongue darting out to catch a dribble of precum.

"He-He likes it when you're forceful." Tina stuttered, for the first time in years.

"Hmmm..." Blaine murmured thoughtfully. His fingers never stopped moving, a slow glide in and out that looked like it was driving Mike slowly insane. Mike was being such a good boy though, not saying a word and just _taking _it.

Tina swallowed against her dry mouth. "Good boy" She whispered hoarsely, rubbing soothing circles against Mike's chest. She tweaked one of his nipples. "Good boy."

Mike started to moan, but she slid her fingers into his mouth. He sucked on them eagerly and the sudden image of him on his knees, sucking at Blaine's cock like he was starving for it, sent sparks shooting through her body and straight down to her groin. She and Blaine traded conspiring grins over Mike's splayed body. Mike was such a good boy for them.

"Forceful..." Blaine mused. "That's usually more Kurt's forte actually." He looked a little shy, for the first time since they started. It was strangely comforting

.

"I can help." Tina was honestly proud that her voice doesn't crack.

Mike let out a whine as Blaine slowly pulled his fingers all the way out.

"What do you mean?" Blaine asked curiously, carefully wiping his fingers on Mike's abs. Mike moaned at the touch, his stomach muscles jumping.

Tina closed her eyes and took a deep breathe. When she opened her eyes, she could see Blaine's back stiffen suddenly, like he was forcing himself not to fall to his knees at seeing her expression. She smiled. Kurt had him well trained then.

"Hey baby," Mike shivered expectantly at her tone, "You're being such a good boy for Blaine." Mike stared at her gratefully, but didn't say anything. He knew better. "Turn over for me." She let a hint of steel creep into her tone. Mike scrambled to get onto his hands and knees, ass in the air. She traced his hole with her thumb, pushing it in slightly and marveling at how wet and loose he was. "You did a good job preparing him Blaine." She hesitated for the briefest second. This was far more intimate than what Blaine had just been doing, even if she was only touching him with words, "Good boy."

Blaine swallowed, closing his eyes. When he opened them, his eyes were open and soft in a way that sent a shiver of power through her.

"Thank you Miss Tina."

**Q is for QVC**

"I'm telling you Mike, Tina doesn't want an electric wok as an anniversary present."

Mike frowned at the computer screen and opened his mouth so Blaine could pop in a spoonful of ice cream. Lychee flavor exploded over his tongue as he stared wistfully at the wok on his screen. It was such a _nice_ wok though, and Tina could keep it in her dorm room. She could have homemade Asian food anytime she wanted! He sighed, gave it one last lingering look, and bookmarked it for mother's day.

"What about the chinese lanterns?" He asked hopefully, clicking to the next tab. They were crammed on top of Mike's bed, the bowl of ice cream safely cradled in Blaine's hands. Their feet kept knocking together, Blaine's bare toes brushing his ankles, and Mike wondered absently whether or not he should order matching socks for them while he was shopping or if that would be weird. He should check whether they made mustard yellow socks to match their pants. Or maybe with dinosaurs on them.

"They're nice, especially if you get the three different colors." Blaine mumbled around the spoon. "But I think she'd just prefer you take her out for a nice dinner."

Mike clicked on to the next tab and Blaine rapped his knuckles with the spoon. "Seriously Mike, just take her out for dinner. Listen to the Queer Eye for the Straight Guy."

Mike blew a strand of hair out of his eyes. Maybe he should start gelling it back. He glanced at Blaine out of the corner of his eye. Maybe not. "What did you get Kurt for your last anniversary present?" He asked pointedly. He knew, of course. He'd tried to talk Blaine out of it. Key word being tried.

Blaine blushed. "I stand by my assertion that a monogrammed butterfly net is an awesome present. He could have caught and made his own pins!"

Mike rolled his eyes as eloquently as he knew how. Blaine smacked him in the shoulder. "Then why are you even asking me!"

"'Cause you're my best friend." Mike said absently, trying to decide whether black with red dragons or red with black dragons looked better. He looked up when he realized Blaine hadn't said anything.

Blaine was staring into his ice cream like it might tell him how to react, his eyes wide. When he looked up, they were suspiciously watery. But Mike pretended not to notice, so Blaine just smiled broadly and said, "Plus this way if Tina hates it, you can blame me. I'm on to your nefarious schemes, mister."

"You've caught me." Mike deadpanned. He watched Blaine laugh out of the corner of his eye. He could feel happiness leeching out of where their shoulders touched. He didn't know whether it was his or Blaine's. But he didn't think it mattered.

He clicked the next tab. "They have this great collection of gold-plated Chinese luck beads that I feel really good about."

**R is for Ring**

Blaine bit his lip.

Mike looked apologetically at the woman behind the desk.

Blaine's face lit up. Mike held his breath.

Blaine's face fell.

He bit his lip again.

The woman's smile strained at the edges.

"I like _My Teenage Dream_." Mike offered timidly. The woman nodded, maybe a little too enthusiastically.

"But what if there's something better out there? What if I get that and then as soon as I get home I think of something even _better_?"

"I don't think you can get better than _My Teenage Dream_." Mike said finally. "It's personal, and sweet."

"Sweet? Sweet?" Blaine rounded on Mike. Mike stepped back, away from what could be correctly deemed _the crazy eyes_. "This is _Kurt's wedding ring_. It has to be more than sweet! It has to be heartfelt! Romantic! _It has to be perfect Mike!"_

Mike instinctively gripped the pepper spray Tina'd given him. "I know."

"You _don't_ know." Blaine thrust his hands into his ungelled curls, yanking them with a force that set Mike's teeth on edge. "Kurt has been thinking about his wedding for his _whole life_. And now we finally can get married. Now when we get married we won't be painting a target on our backs for every time we want to visit Burt!" Blaine closed his eyes, like the vision he had was too painful to look at anymore. "I need this to be perfect for him."

Mike licked his lips nervously. He hadn't known how scared Blaine had been. Kurt had always told Tina that they were waiting until they could have the wedding of his dreams. It was, Kurt always said airily, something that would make the royal wedding look like something thrown together in a day. There would be doves. And fireworks. And ice sculptures of Broadway legends such as Barbra and LuPone. Such things required time.

And money, Tina'd add, don't forget that.

Mike wondered what Kurt's dream wedding really was. He was pretty sure now that Kurt would have had a wedding in his back yard, if Blaine was the one opposite him.

It made him ache, oddly enough, for high school. For when Blaine was a half an hour away in the car, instead of a three hour plane ride. So much of them was said in silence. There was so much Mike had missed, when he couldn't watch the way Blaine's fingers twitched or the way his eyes slid away.

"He'll love it." Mike said. There was really nothing else to be said.

"He'll love it?" Blaine echoed.

Mike smiled, and tucked Blaine's fingers around the ring. "He'll love it."

**R IS ALSO FOR RIDICULOUS ENDING**

Kurt glanced up. "Did you just hear the sound of females fainting?"

Tina screwed up her face. "I think I heard the faint sound of something… _my feels_ maybe?"

They exchanged looks. "Five bucks says it's me." Kurt said smugly.

"It's not fair." Tina sighed. "You always get such cute moments."

"Blaine can't help. He's made of rainbows and puppy pouts and sparkles."

"What a curse." Tina giggled. She smiled almost shyly. " And Mike is pretty much music taken physical form."

"When he dances?" Kurt says, even though he knows that's not quite it.

"When he _is_." She said firmly.

They smiled at each other. Then.

"And abs. Those are good too." Tina added. "Don't forget the abs."

"I never do." Kurt's eyes glazed over.

Mike frowned. "Did you just hear a tiny _hnnnnng_?")

**S is for Silence**

"Why do you like Blaine so much?" Tina asks curiously, idly tracing the line of his hipbone. "You've never been this... partial to someone since Matt left. Usually you're the biggest fan of group scenes."

"So's Blaine." Mike says simply.

"Hmm, true." Tina hums against his shoulder. She rubs her nose against his skin and falls silent. He knows he could stop there, and she would understand.

So he doesn't.

"We can be silent together." He whispers into her hair, breathing in the smell of citrus and sweat, "When words are hard."

"Ah." He can feel her smile against his skin, like her happiness is melting into him. "Do you dance for him?" Tina teased softly. "Should I be jealous?"

"You make clothes with Kurt." He answered, smiling into her hair. "Should I be jealous?"

"Maybe." She laughed coyly. "_You_ don't know what it means when I wear purple."

"No." He admits, more than a little sadly. "But I know you look beautiful."

She sighs happily, and he surpresses the urge to fist pump.

"So Blaine knows what it means?" Tina doesn't clarify what _it_ means.

"Sort of." Mike says after a moment. "Artie does more." He can feel her frown against his neck, the confusion in her fingertips. But only for a second, and then she smiles.

"He would." She says fondly.

He remembers with a jolt that _oh yeah_, Tina had loved Artie. It's always strange to think of a time before they were Tina-and-Mike.

"But." Mike says, feeling oddly protective of his best friend. "Blaine tries."

He can feel the breath catch in her throat, the choking _want_ vibrating through her.

"Blaine reads Vogue." He offers.

She laughs breathlessly. "Our little stereotype."

He presses the sign for _love_ against her belly. Blaine had showed it to him. Mike thinks that Kurt had probably shown him. He knows that Kurt had learned sign from his mother, that his first spoken language had been music.

He presses _dance_, _toothbrush_, _family_ into her skin. She smiles, and traces kanji against his own. _Clothes. Death. Silence._

He counters with kanji for _culture_, _apple_, _laughter_.

She giggles as his kanji gets sloppier, his fingertips digging into the soft skin below her breasts where she's most ticklish. She clumsily signs back _love, _and he kisses her.

Mike wonders where the chain of sign language started. He learned it from Blaine, who learned it from Kurt, who learned it from his mother. And he passed it on to Tina.

He can see the chain linking them all, spiraling back and forth through time. He's just another link on the chain, holding hands with Blaine and Tina in a lattice of eloquent silence.

He licks into her mouth, and wonders whom she'll teach it to.

**T is for Toothbrush**

"Noo." Kurt whined, pushing forward to chase after Blaine's lips.

"Sorry, Sorry." Blaine breathed, sounding as wrecked as Kurt felt. But he still pulled back to fumble with his phone.

"That had better be a family lawyer telling you that obscenely rich great-uncle just died and left his entire collection of Tiffany brooches to you." Kurt muttered, throwing an arm over his eyes.

"I don't have an obscenely rich great-uncle." Blaine said absently, thumbs flying over the keyboard.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "What about a filthy rich aunt once-removed with a penchant for designer scarves?"

Blaine tossed the phone onto the bed. "Would you accept a moderately wealthy father with a collection of flying fish hooks?" They both shivered as Blaine draped himself over Kurt, their bare skin tingling where they touched. Blaine pressed his lips to Kurt's pulse point, not quite kissing it.

Kurt traced a finger down the knobs of Blaine's spine. "Who was it?" He asked, even though he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

"Mike." Blaine confirmed. "He wanted to know if I thought lotuses or chrysanthemums would be better for his Oberon crown."

Kurt sat bolt upright, affronted. Or well, he tried to. Blaine's deadweight on top of him meant that he mostly just wriggled petulantly. "He asked _you_? What do you know about the language of flowers?"

"Enough." Blaine shoved Kurt back down onto the bed, ignoring the grumbles. "Besides it wasn't really about the flowers."

"Oh." Kurt sighed as he let himself go limp, surrounded by Blaine. "That's this week isn't it?"

"His first show."

Kurt rubbed a soothing hand over Blaine's suddenly tense back. "The first time he performs at Carnegie Hall we'll be there."

"In the front row."

"In the front row." Kurt echoed, burying his nose in the curls behind Blaine's ear. "Does it ever feel strange to you?" Kurt said. He blinked. He hadn't meant to say that.

"What do you mean?"

"Well. That you and Mike are still so close, even though he lives so far away now. I know that if Rachel wasn't over here so often she might as well go back to paying rent, we would never talk."

"That's not true at all." Blaine grinned into the skin of Kurt's neck.

"That's not true at all." Kurt sighed. "She's like a Trojan Horse. No matter how many walls and armies you put up, she sneaks her way in."

"As long as she doesn't release her soldiers inside you."

"Gross." He poked Blaine hard in the ribs. "But." He hesitated. "Do you ever feel like sometimes we never left McKinley?" He felt Blaine still above him. "Our closest friends are still the ones from Glee. I'm pretty sure that's not normal."

"Since when were we normal?" Blaine muttered, but Kurt could feel him thinking about it. "I guess it's not usual." Blaine propped himself on his elbow. "But it's like going to war together. You have your band of brothers. People who go through traumatic experiences together have a bond."

Kurt felt more naked in that moment than he had just seconds before. He curls into Blaine and takes a deep breath, reminded himself that it was okay to be naked here. He didn't need his armor anymore. Not here.

Kurt saw Blaine rub his Adam's apple, and knew that he was missing his bowtie. He pressed his thumb into the hollow of Blaine's throat, and watched his boyfriend relax into him. "So we're just survivors together?" He said softly, even though he knew that wasn't what Blaine meant.

"No." Blaine mumbled. "There were the toothbrushes."

Kurt's heart leapt painfully. "I remember those."

"He still has them for us." _He still has them for all of us_ hung between them unsaid. Kurt wondered how often Mike replaced them. He wondered how much Mike spent making sure that, no matter what, his friends would always have a home (a toothbrush) to come to.

Kurt closed his eyes, and for a second he was sure that when he opened them he'd be seventeen and so _tired_ of waiting for his father to come back to him. "Mine was purple." Kurt whispered. He hadn't been inside a church since his mother died, since the first person whispered _good thing she died before she realized what a fag her son is_. But he thought this might be like what a confessional is like. "He came at 6:30 in the morning to the hospital to give it to me. He didn't know if I had one."

"I'm going through the rainbow." Blaine said back, just as reverently hushed.

"Home is where you hang your hat." Kurt quoted, because his heart hurt too much to try to make his own words.

"You're home to me." Blaine said. Kurt shuddered, the love in Blaine's voice too much to bear. "But he gave me a home too. And he, he didn't- He did that for everyone not just me."

Kurt nodded, because there is something amazing in being special but there is also something so precious in being just like everyone else. It wasn't not something he had much experience with, and for a moment he _burned_ with jealousy. Then,

"He has one for you too." Blaine said. "It's unopened, but it's got your name on the back. It's not for anyone else. It's just for you."

Kurt swallowed painfully. "This is definitely a different way than I expected tonight to go."

Blaine let out a little huff. "How did you expect tonight to go?" He asked cheekily. Kurt rolled his eyes, not even trying to hide his smile, and smacked him lightly.

Kurt rubbed his nose into the thin skin of Blaine's neck, where he could feel the blood pumping, where he could lose his eyes and feel how very alive Blaine is. "Hmmm." He hummed, and suppressed a giggle at Blaine's spasm. "I think I expected _getting inside you_ to be more literal than metaphorical."

"Who says we can't be both?" Blaine went breathless, his hand a vise on Kurt's shoulder.

"I like the way you think." He whispered back, and leaned up to kiss him.

Once he had one home, where his father looked at him like he didn't know what to do and his mother's perfume lingered only in his memory. Now he has parents in Ohio, and the love of his life in his bed in New York, and a toothbrush in Chicago. It's strange, and heartbreaking in the way that change always is. He felt like he'd been gutted, like he'd been burned away and then reborn.

He laughed into the kiss. "I'm a phoenix." He giggled, when Blaine pulled back, confused.

Blaine bit his shoulder and the giggles turned to moans. "Well you are hot like burning."

Kurt kissed him to shut him up.

**U for Unique**

"So how is McKinley?" Mike asks.

Blaine grins at the computer screen, and doesn't think about how, soon, this will be the only way he talks to Kurt too. "It's McKinley." Mike accepts everything this loaded phrase says with a nod. Blaine wonders how he'll ever be able to explain it to someone who didn't live through it. "But so far it's pretty good. Unique transferred, so we've got her in our group!"

Mike raises his eyebrows. "That's pretty brave of her."

Blaine's mouth quirks up involuntarily. "Courage." He agrees.

"She left Carmel? And she came in a dress to McKinley? That's pretty much the definition of courage."

Blaine smiles, his heart tight. With longing or love, he can't tell. "Not on the first day. The first day Wade came to talk to us. But lately it's usually been Unique."

(Unique had worn a beautiful red dress today, one that showed off her curves. A football jock had tried to rip off one of her breasts, and she'd slammed him into the locker by his neck.

"I'm more of a man than you'll ever be." She'd declared. "And more of a woman than you'll ever get.")

Mike cocks his head to the side. "You make it sound like they're two different people."

Blaine's nails dig into his palm, and he's suddenly absurdly grateful that Mike _isn't_ there. That he can't see anything but what Blaine lets him see. He keeps his hands carefully out of screen, and ignores the tiny voice that says that _that is just as bad_. "They are, in a way." He shakes himself.

"I don't understand." Mike says simply. Blaine can't quite explain why this is such a relief. A different kind of relief than when Kurt had just held his hand and let him stop talking, let him just shake while Kurt held him. Because Kurt got it, Kurt knew what Blaine meant even though Blaine didn't even know, and Mike doesn't but he's _trying_.

"Wade is Unique." He says. He stops, unsure what to say after that.

Mike's mouth twitches. "Just like everyone else."

Blaine laughs, and is surprised by how good it feels. "Unique's really lucky."

Mike raises his eyebrow. "Really?"

Blaine picks at his cuticles before he remembers that Mike will be able to tell what he's doing by his eyes. "She knows what mask she's wearing. And she knows how to take it off."

Mike frowns. Blaine accidently tears off the cuticle on his left pointer finger and curses under his breath.

"Would you have worn the dress, if Sue had asked you?" It seems like a non-sequitor. It's really not.

It's not exactly what Blaine had been hoping for. But Blaine doesn't really know what he was hoping for anyway. And in a way, it's so much more than he expected.

Blaine bites his lip, and scrubs at the tiny, bright drop of blood on his keyboard. He'll have to ask Kurt how to get out bloodstains tomorrow. "Well, now we have Unique. So she won't."

Mike doesn't point that Blaine didn't answer the question.

Blaine doesn't point out that, really, he did.

**V is for Vintage**

"Hey, hey Brittany." She turned at Blaine's words. "So, Mike and I" Mike waved, feeling oddly self-conscious. He'd offered to ask Brittany, but Blaine had been determined. "were thinking about maybe doing a song, one that we might be able to perform at Nationals. The theme is Vintage, and I have a lot of vintage stuff so we should be able to find something."

Brittany cocked her head to the side. "Is that why you sing about alcohol all the time?"

"So I – wait, what?"

"You sing about alcohol all the time."

"I… do?" He looked at Mike. Mike thought about it, and had to nod. Huh, he'd never realized that before. Blaine blinked, surprised, and turned back to Brittany. "I do. I hadn't realized that before. But I didn't mean vintage like wine, I meant vintage like old. I have a lot of old music."

Brittany sighed, and it sounded like it should be angry but it mostly just sounded tired. "People should just say what they mean. Or use subtitles. Those help sometimes."

Mike nodded sympathetically. Words were hard.

"We were thinking about _You Should Be Dancing_." Blaine said after a moment.

"You should be dancing!" Blaine said, waving the record like a flag. Mike clapped so hard his hands ached with it.

Brittany side-eyed them, confused. "I'm always dancing."

Mike grinned at her over Blaine's head. _Me too_ he mouthed.

Blaine nodded. "Which is exactly why we need you. But I meant the song, _You Should be _Dancing, not that you, specifically Brittany, should be dancing right now. Though we would like you to dance with us, during the number."

"Wait, do you want me to dance or not?"

"Sorry." Blaine said automatically, and then again, more softly. "Sorry. I meant, we want you to dance with us, for the song _You Should Be Dancing_ from the album Saturday Night Fever."

"I had a fever on Saturday Night once. It didn't make me want to dance. It made me want to throw up." Brittany sucked her pen thoughtfully; Blaine suspected he's find it painfully erotic if he swung that way. Hell, even gay as the rainbow it made him have to clear his throat a few times.

"So, do you think you can come over tonight and help us choreograph the song? We could really use your help with the dance moves, everyone knows you're the best." They'd both decided that flattery would never go amiss with Brittany.

Brittany nodded. "It's true, I am the best. But you'll have to check with my schedule. Call Lord Tubbington, and he'll see if he can fit you in."

"But isn't he…" Blaine trailed off, and looked helplessly at Mike.

Mike stepped forward. "We already talked to Lord Tubbington. Apparently you have a three hour window between your last class and your sister's ballet recital, so you can come. If you want to."

"We'll have fondue." Blaine piped in. Mike had reassured him that fondue was Brittany's catnip. It was apparently Lord Tubbington's too.

Brittany lunged forward and caught them both in a hug. "Sure! That sounds awesome. We'll definitely have the best old wine _ever_."

**W is for Wabi-Sabi**

Blaine grins as he pokes Mike in the ribs. "It's really unfair to bring you to the beach."

Mike grins back. "You were the one who invited me."

"Yeah, I invited you. Not" He waves at Mike's abs "all this. You're making me look bad in front of my boyfriend, Mike. Could you be a little less ripped today? For me?"

"I'll try." Mike promises, and poofs out his stomach as much as he can. "Better?"

"Much." Blaine laughs. He turns to Kurt, who's currently hiding under a beach umbrella, two different layers and coating of SPF 100 that makes even his skin look paler. "You want to go swimming?"

"People who don't burn after the sun so much as glances at them can go swim. I'll be here with People's Tribute To Madonna."

In their typical way, swimming turns into dancing in the water. After reenacting Swan Lake, with Blaine tossed into the air as Mike's Odette and landing in a belly flop, Blaine decides that he needs to find the perfect shell to bring back to Kurt, so they start scouring the beach.

"I like this one." Mike picks up a cracked spiral shell.

Blaine eyes it critically. "It's broken." He says finally, and turns away.

"You're at the beach. I don't think it's possible to find something unbroken." He resists the urge to say _Kurt loves broken things. _"Besides, it's pretty." He rubs a thumb over the chipped edges. "It's broken just enough so that you can see inside." He holds it out for Blaine to take another look. "The core's not broken, so it'll hold together really well still. And this way you can see all the different cool textures and colors."

He really does like it, how the outside looks like a rope of coiled hair, rough and warm to the touch, in contrast to the cool smoothness inside. And since it's broken, you can see all the layers, the years of calcium carbonate building up little by little that went into making it what it is. It's beautiful in a way that makes Mike think of death, of bare, black branches sticking up out of the snow.

Blaine traces over the edges, rubbed smooth by years of waves and sand. "Yeah. Yeah I like it."

Kurt corners him at the end of the day. "Thank you for helping him." Kurt tells him as they pack up. Blaine's gone to get the car, and Kurt looks him straight in the eye with an intensity that always makes Mike feel uncomfortable. He doesn't know why he's being thanked for being a good friend. He's pretty sure it's something Kurt needs to do, not something that Kurt thinks he needs to hear.

So Mike just nods, and doesn't tell Kurt about wabi-sabi, the ancient Japanese art of beauty in brokenness, of being perfectly imperfect (_wabi-sabi __nurtures all that is authentic by acknowledging three simple realities: nothing lasts, nothing is finished, and nothing is perfect__._)

He knows Kurt already knows.

**X is for Xenophobia**

Blaine smiled nervously at Mike. Mike smiled back just as nervously. Blaine felt weirdly like they were on a first date, all awkwardness and desperation.

Finally, Mike asked, "How is everyone?"

Blaine bit his lip. "Tina's doing… okay." He knew that Tina and Mike had agreed that a break up was for the best, but Tina was walking around like she had broken glass poking out from underneath her skin.

("If we do it now, we can stay friends." Tina had insisted, red eyed, "Otherwise the long distance will mess everything up and we'll end up hating each other."

She'd glared at his hand, and shrugged it off. "You and Kurt will learn that soon. You'll see we were smart.")

Blaine rubbed his arm, and was surprised for a moment not to feel any wounds. "She's hurting. But that's to be expected."

Mike blinked, and the bad quality made the movement slow and jerky. It was disconcerting to see Mike so graceless. "It hurts because it mattered."

Blaine swallowed. "It mattered."

"Are you?" Blaine blinked at the question. "Hurting, I mean."

Blaine considered it. He glanced at Mike, then down to his hands. "I'm scared."

"Scared?"

"Scared." Blaine sucked in a shaky breath. "I'm scared of what's going to happen. I –" He squeezed his shaking hands between his thighs. "What if the new people are better than me?"

Mike frowned at him. Blaine smiled instinctively. "I mean, New Directions definitely needs new and talented people to try and make up for who we've lost. Not replace." He was talking too fast, and his smile was too wide but he couldn't help it. "You could never be replaced, Mike, don't worry about that."

"You're not going to be replaced either." Mike said. Blaine sagged, his arm falling from its gesturing as though his strings had been cut. "You don't have to be scared."

Blaine thought of Unique and made a face. Belatedly, he thought about Marley. "Do you think I'm xenophobic?" He asked, instead of _how can I be the best? _He though that asking that might weird Mike out, especially since Mike was always perfectly happy to just dance. He'd ask Kurt later.

"I think I used to sit between Karofsky and Puckerman everyday at lunch my freshman and sophomore year." Blaine jerked back. He'd known, vaguely, that Mike had been tight with the football kids before but… "Being popular means being safe." Mike's shrug was awkward and slightly out of synch. Blaine frowned and scribbled a reminder to look into better webcams.

"Did you…?" Blaine trailed off. He didn't think he wanted to know the answer.

"No. But I didn't help either."

"Do you regret that?"

"I didn't know there were other options." Blaine nearly laughed, because for all that Mike didn't talk much it was usually _Blaine _that avoided things like that.

"But I do."

"You do." Mike inclined his head. It was probably supposed to be a nod, but to Blaine it looked like a bow.

"Knowledge is power. And with great power comes great responsibility." He joked, only a little nervously.

"Try not to let anyone die." Mike said wryly. "You already don't have enough people for Nationals."

Blaine laughed. "I'll keep it in mind."

**Y is for Yuanfen**

"Come on in, this is my room." Mike pushed the door open, and tried to pretend like he wasn't watching for Blaine's reaction. He didn't really know Blaine, but he knew Kurt. He told himself that was why he'd asked Blaine to dance with him.

Blaine smiled, and Mike suppressed the urge to sigh with relief.

"So yeah. Sheet music." He rifled through the stack of papers on his desk, even though he knew it was in the drawer. He'd put it there that morning, to make sure it would be easy to find.

"What's that?" Blaine asked politely, nodding to the framed kanji on the wall.

Mike smiled instinctively at the sight. "It's about yuanfen. Tina gave it to me for my birthday."

"What does it mean?"

Mike frowned slightly as he thought. Changing languages, changing worlds, was so hard sometimes. There were so many layers to words, delicate gossamer threads that he had to untangle and then weave anew.

"'It takes hundreds of rebirths to bring two persons to ride in the same boat; it takes a thousand eons to bring two persons to share the same pillow. This goes to show just how precious _yuánfèn_ is.'" Mike translated, his voice much softer than he expected.

Blaine cocked his head to the side. "Yuanfen?"

"It means fate, but without destiny." Mike said finally. "It means being bound to someone, through and because of all your rebirths. It means that out of all the billions of people who walk the earth, two people managed to meet. And that that is a miracle."

Blaine stared at him. "Tina gave that to you?" It came out like a question, even though Mike knew it wasn't.

"It's not–" Mike huffed out a frustrated breath. There was so _much_ in that one word, he didn't know how to pick it apart, how to pin every piece to the board to be examined. He didn't even know if he wanted to. It somehow felt like betrayal to try and take it from its native land. "It's not a _romantic_ thing. It's not about lovers."

"Yuanfen." It can out soft and wondering, like Blaine was cupping the word in his hands and marveling at it. "It's not about lovers." Blaine agreed. "It's about soulmates."

Mike blinked at him. Last time he'd tried to explain yuanfen, he'd spent 20 minutes trying to explain that no, yuanfen did _not_ mean fate Artie, I'm the one who speaks Chinese, trust me.

That's amazing." He said breathlessly. "I didn't know there was a word for that."

Mike started to open his mouth, and then gave up half way through. He didn't think there was a way to say what he wanted in English. He wasn't sure if there was a way in any spoken language.

Blaine smiled a little too broadly, like he'd only just remembered where he was. "By the way, I just wanted to thank you again."

"For what?" Mike asked, genuinely confused.

"For asking me to help." Blaine nudged the sheet music.

"Oh. Well, you know, I know you're a good dancer." Mike doesn't say that he saw Blaine's moves in the few minutes before Santana turned his song into her bonfire.

Blaine smiled awkwardly. "It's the first time someone's, you know, asked me. To help. It's nice. Anyway." He said quickly. "What moves did you have in mind for, uhm, Hot For Teacher?"

Mike grinned, and leapt to his feet.

**Z is for Zoo (Z is for Zero)**

Mike thinks about asking Blaine if he's okay. He decides not to, on the basis that Blaine will deflect anyway, and then turn the question right back on him. And Mike doesn't really want to answer that question. Not when yesterday Tina walked past him like he wasn't even there.

"I didn't know there was a zoo around here." He says instead.

"Yeah." Blaine smiles a little too hard. "I've never been here before."

Mike wonders how long it took Blaine to find somewhere that wasn't filled with _Kurt_. Mike frowns at a penguin, and considers his own shrinking spheres. This place isn't safe anymore either, not know that it's been infected with _I've never been here with Tina_.

"Can you imagine being with anyone else?"

Mike tilts his head back until it thunks against the back of the bench. There's a cloud that looks like a spider. Or Joe's dreads. "Yes," He says through gritted teeth. "I wish I couldn't."

"I couldn't."

Mike glances at Blaine. Mike'd been looking up at the clouds to avoid eye contact, but Blaine's staring down at his shoes. They are pretty nice shoes, to be fair. "Is that why you two broke up?" He honestly doesn't know. But Blaine doesn't really know all the reasons he and Tina broke up. Mike knows that he _should_ want to know, but he really doesn't. If Blaine wants to tell him, he'll listen. But at the end of the day, they broke up. None of them would do that lightly. So Mike doesn't really see the point in making Blaine relive it all.

Mike tenses as Blaine's fingers twitch toward his cuticles. Then Blaine just worries his sleeves. It's a weird mix of pride and loss to see, so suddenly, all the changes Blaine's gone through without him. "I was Kurt's boyfriend, and then the new Rachel, and… I just…"

"Other Asian." Mike reminds him. "Asian Fusion."

They both fall silent after that, and watch the penguins swim in their cage. Mike wonders idly if any of them ever hit the wall, or if they're blissfully unaware of their own limits.

"Who are you now?" Blaine asks. Mike kind of wants to roll his eyes. Who talks like that in real life? Blaine, he answers himself, with a little mental sigh, and Kurt. He wishes he could blame Kurt for this. But he knows that the reason Kurt loved Blaine so much was _because_ of how often Blaine spoke in scripts and lyrics.

"A dancer." He says simply. "You?" He's honestly curious what the answer will be.

Blaine laughs, and it sounds like ice cracking apart. "Starting over at zero." He sounds oddly young as he says it.

"Back where you started?" Mike asks. Blaine had insisted on half-naked werewolves to accompany the green tea ice cream last night.

Blaine smiles "No boyfriend, no popularity."

"You've still got me."

Blaine smiles. "Life fulfilled."

Mike hums the opening bars of _At The Beginning._

Blaine cracks up. A penguin gives a startled hoot at the sound. Blaine sings, and Mike relaxes. Fresh starts aren't bad things. And next time, he thinks, because he already knows that for Kurt and Blaine there will be a next time, maybe Blaine will have grown into someone who can love Blaine as much as he loves Kurt.

_And Life is a road and I want to keep going_

_Love is a river I want to keep flowing_

_Life is a road now and forever_

_A Wonderful journey_

xXx

This was originally posted, one a day, at my tumblr as part of my fic giveaway for the winner INNYPOCKET.


End file.
